Wednesday, May 16
Bloggy Hiatus - The Why
In case anybody that still reads this is going to hold me up to my previous post, I'm going to get this outta the way.
In my pre-blog history, I was diagnosed with PTSD, severe depression with suicidal tendencies, and panic attacks. Therapy didn't help. It made me feel even more like a victim.
During my six months of therapy, the therapist told me that talking about my flashbacks was "working through" my problems. But, the more I "worked through" my problems, the more flashbacks I had. At 16, coping is hard anyway. Add in flashbacks and it is a recipe for disaster.
Look at how much kids change in a year. To an adult a year doesn't seem like much, sometimes even ten years doesn't seem like much of a difference. But, to a sixteen year old, ten years is two-thirds of their lives. My earliest memories are of abuse. So, I spent the six months that I was in therapy reliving the worst experiences of my life. Sometimes, I'd have a flashback from when I was 3 or 4. An hour later, I'd have a flashback from when I was about ten.
I couldn't go to school. Foster homes that were non-abusive couldn't handle my diseases. I still ran away from homes that were abusive. I was consistently getting put in worse homes because the good ones wouldn't take me. At one point I was getting put on a three day hold for attempting suicide about once a week, sometimes two.
Eventually, I figured out that the less I talked about things, the fewer flashbacks I had. So, I stopped blathering on and on about what happened, emotions, reactions, etc. I started to only have a flashback when I saw certain people or things. I went from having two or more a day to having maybe one a month. Suicide seemed less necessary. I moved. I stabilized.
By the time I was 18, I took myself off my antidepressant meds. I wrote stories when I used to try to kill myself. (That started my love with writing) I was excelling at school. I had found a foster home that I thought actually gave a shit (that one's a whole other story). I got a scholarship for college and a steady job. Things were going really well.
Then, my life went to hell about August of last year. I felt out of control. Hell, I was out of control of my life. The details of what happened aren't necessary, but my girlfriend, our kids, and I all found out how true Murphy's Law is. Everytime something good happened, two or more bad things happened.
All that stress led to my flashbacks returning. I started having panic attacks a lot. I contemplated suicide. I almost checked myself into a psych ward. The more my mental health went down the tube, the harder it was to care if the rest of my life kept going to hell. I didn't care about anything. I was a horrible mother and girlfriend. I didn't care who I hurt in my self-destruction.
One day, I started talking to Stacie. I mean really talking to her. I didn't hold back. She still doesn't know everything but I feel comfortable talking about what happens in my head now. She knows that sometimes all I need is just to be comforted.
I still don't think that therapy is the right choice for me. Meds aren't either. But, I finally figured out that ignoring the problem doesn't help. Whether it's a therapist and meds, or just the person you love, you have to have an outlet. One that talks back instead of making it easier to believe it happened to someone else.
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